Going Feet First Ch. 01

In a very nonchalant manner, Galen turned slowly on his heel and began walking backwards as he scanned the scenery behind him. There was no movement, no shifts in the bush, no birds rustling in branches, only the endless amounts of trees swaying together in a passing breeze.

More slowly this time, Galen turned back to face the proper direction, still scanning over the area as the incline of the hill began to get a lot steeper. Right up ahead was a familiar sight; it lay impaled into the ground with the mounted engines no longer spinning. A broad piece of its aluminum plating lying on top of several toppled trees behind it in its path of destruction.

Galen took a moment to inspect the severed wing of the C-130, and the couple dozen yards of trees it had flattened right down to the forest floor. A large hole had burned right through the wing where the lightning had hit and drained it of it's of fuel long before it had hit the ground. The scorch marks that extended out from the ragged opening told Galen that the fuel had been burning as the plane went down. If that was the case then the plane was lucky to have made it so far instead of just simply blowing up mid-air.

Lucky me, Galen thought.

When he was done looking at what was left of the wing, he got out of that flat section of the forest and back to the scar. Too much open space with no cover around him could get him shot. He kept pressing on up the hill, his breath growing weary as the incline made him do more climbing than walking. But still he ordered himself to keep going, no matter what. He needed to figure out where he was and there was still one more body he wanted to find.

The end of the scar was fast approaching as he pressed onwards, which would mean the top of the hill. This put a hup-too in Galen's step as he picked up his pace. Soon enough he found himself back on even ground, though still surrounded by trees twenty feet tall that obscured his view of anything beyond them. If he wanted his vantage point, he needed to climb one.

Swallowing hard, the soldier held his head up and pushed the thoughts of the height out of his mind. He wouldn't be a good paratrooper if he was scared of falling out of some damned tree!

He began to wander around the hill top, searching for a decent place to climb. It had to be taller than the other trees, and it had to have branches all the way up or else he was going to have one short trip. Fortunately he didn't have to go far to find one. A pine tree.

At first, Galen rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He looked to the side and back again but sure enough it was still there. It was real and right in front of him.

Why the Hell is there a pine tree in Vietnam?

The question only had a second to occupy Galen's mind before he shoved it out and refocused on his task. Dropping his pack on the ground and setting his rifle down with the safety on for once, he approached the soaring pine with determination stuck to his face. All the way up its trunk were considerably large knots, withered limbs, and needled branches protruding every which way from its bark. This tree was the only one of its kind in the entire area, the others being simple deciduous trees that had claimed rest of the hill and much of the forest below.

The private took one look up the evergreen before him then spat onto his palms, rubbing the saliva around before taking hold of the pine's bark. One branch at a time, he began his way up, one arm reaching forward, one leg pushing up.

"Not much farther... I'll be... Urrghh, back in US hands... dammit... by t'night, or by mornin.'"

The bandage wrapped around his left arm started to bleed through, sharp aches working their way into the muscle once again. Hard, stabbing pains made his bicep throb, but Galen hung on for dear life.

Forcing himself past the pain in his arms, he fought for every inch toward the top. He grunted as he pulled himself up another few branches and closer to his goal. Planting his boots onto two separate little nubs on either side of him, he found the perfect perch come into sight. Just a few feet above him hung a wide branch that was possibly thick enough to support the young soldier's weight. He would have to find out.

Snap!

"Whoa, shit!" he yelled as a branch snapped in his lead hand. Chunks of bark were pulled off the tree as he desperately clawed for the branches around him around him with his body tipping backwards.

"Shit!" he swore as he managed to dig his fingers into the sides of the trunk and reel himself in.

Doing his best to fight the queasy feeling surging up in his stomach, he leaned over to peer down at the ground he had come so close into meeting again. His breathing suddenly got very heavy, with the rapid thumping in his chest sinking down into his stomach.

Beneath him was a good twenty five feet of daylight and a whole lot of little branches that would do nothing to slow any sort of rapid descent. Blood pounding through his ears, Galen reached up and grabbed onto that wide branch above with a death grip, breathing hard as he pulled himself up and onto the perch.

At first his place in the tree top began to bend downward, bits of dead bark cracking and breaking off. The beating in his chest nearly stopped completely when it began to creak. If it was going to snap and send him to his doom, now would be the time.

It ain't the fall that kills you; it's that sudden stop at the bottom.

Galen found himself giggling now at his father's wicked sense of humor. If he was going to die, it would at least be with a smile. But at last, the precarious tree limb upon which he found himself resting finally held still.

The stagnate air pent up in his lungs escaped as he laughed away the tension in his mind. He took a moment to try and slow his heavy breathing and silence that pounding in his ears. He even glanced over the side to see how high he sat. A decision he immediately regretted upon realizing he was nearly thirty feet up.

Another brush with death, he thought, pressing his back against the tree and shut his eyes to settle his nerves. Either the devil doesn't want me, or God indeed loves me. Either way, let's find out exactly where the Hell I am.

Giving one last sigh, he opened his eyes and looked out to the direction that he had flown in from. He saw not a city in the distance, nor any aircraft buzzing about, nor the burst of flak around a flood of search lights in the evening sky. There were no signs of war or rattling off of AK-47s or M60s in the distance. Only the vast expanse of an untouched forest.

Several clearings, both big and small, were scattered all over with flocks of birds gliding over the tree tops. Trails of smoke steadily rose from several of the open areas, but it didn't seem to be from the crash of any aircraft. The smoke was thin and steady, like a camp fire, not thick and plumy as it was with burning oil. That meant somebody was cooking, and cooking meant hot food and people. And that meant a satisfied belly and the chance of communications.

Hopefully they were friendly, but that chance was slim. He had to be way off track if his intended destination wasn't even a silhouette in the distance and the sounds of war failed reach him even on a hilltop. For all he knew he was deep in enemy territory which would make him shit out of luck.

The only assuring thing he could see was the river cutting its way through the land near those clearings. It was a place he could possibly clean himself up and restock on water if he needed to. He remembered from the mission briefing that a river ran past the drop zone, so going up river would take him to where he needed to be. Again, providing he wasn't too far away.

The only thing that made him wonder, though, was what lay beyond the forest. Miles upon miles away to what he figured to be south, there were rolling, treeless hills. Not treeless from bombing, but waving fields of grass. Whatever was beyond those grassy hills was blocked by the faint silhouettes of mountain tops.

Wait, mountains?

He sure wished he had the little pair of binoculars he packed, but they were in his ruck. The best he could do was squint and stare, trying to get a better look at those distance shapes. One thing he remembered from a map he had seen of the operational area was a distinct lack of mountains anywhere near the city. There were hills for sure, some that may have been big enough to be called a "mountain," but none so tall as to have snowcapped peaks. Let alone a full range of them.

Wherever he was, he was pretty damn sure it wasn't Vietnam.

So where the Hell am I?

Galen peered over down the side of the tree, packing down the lump in his throat before carefully sweeping his feet over the edge of his perch. Climbing up was one issue, getting down was going to be an outright challenge.

Cycling several deep breaths, the private carefully guided his boots down onto the same points he had used to climb up, every step cautiously placed to ensure he didn't take a tumble down to his death. It'd be a shame to survive a plane crash only to buy it falling off a tree. But considering his earlier troubles coming up, his journey down was making good progress. Only ten feet separated him and the jagged roots jutting from the earth below and he was moving at a brisk pace.

"I can do this," he whispered, "I can-" -snap- "shit."

A lump of bark gave way under his boot, leaving Galen wailing as he hung eight feet from the safety of solid ground. He kicked wildly, beating at the side of the tree with his boots to try and find a spot to dig in. His fingers began stinging as the sharp points of coniferous needles of the branch he clung to sank into them.

"rrr-AHHHHH" he hollered as he finally released the tree.

Training kicked in just as his boots hit the forest floor, his legs collapsing with enough muscle power still pushing back to soften his landing. The only downside was this technique was meant to be done while moving forward without anything in front of you. With his body facing the tree, his helmet smacked against the trunk with a loud crack and a swirl of stars in his eyes.

"Oww," he groaned as he fell backward, a root jabbing right up into his ribs on landing.

"Ahhhoowww, damn it!" he cursed, flipping over and away.

The only comfort to his current agony was the fact that he was on the ground. His right thigh hurt like Hell, it felt like some hit him on the head with a hammer, and he could swear that somebody stuck a knife in his back, but he was on the ground. That ground likely didn't belong to the country he thought he was in but it at least he was on it.

Groaning aloud and wincing at most movements, Galen mustered the willpower he needed to stand up. Battling the strain of muscle and the weariness of fatigue, he gathered up his pack and hoisted his loaded rifle over his shoulder. For the next few moments he tried to clear his thoughts enough to think of his next move.

That river was a mile or so away and his best guess at the moment was that he was downstream from where he thought he needed to be. There could be fresh water there and even a few fish for him to catch somehow. If he was lucky there'd be a town or a village in some of the clearings that he saw. Fire confirmed the presence of people, and if they had a radio, he could try and contact any US forces in the area...

If he was even in a place that had any US forces.

What if the plane carried him to a new country completely? What if even, he was-?

BANG!

An eruption of birds burst from the tree tops as the gunshot echoed through the forest.

One name passed through Galen's mind the instant he heard that rifle go off.

Michael.

......................................

The Neko woman clung to her tree as thunder shattered the calm over the area. Hairs prickled down her back as she frantically searched the skies for any sign of clouds or lightning. She didn't smell any rain, nor had any dark anvil head formations blown in from any direction. Where had the thunder come from?

Her nerves rattled throughout her body as she leaped to another tree and sunk her claws into its bark as she watched over this curious human who now sprinted through the forest. That great wooden club of his staying pressed close to his side with the metal tip pointing forward. Whatever this thing was, it appeared to be very important to him and it didn't seem like he was interested in leaving it behind. Perhaps she could remove it from his possession while he slept to investigate it for herself or even bring it to her village elders. One of them was very familiar with some of the workings of human society; he may have a clue as what it may be.

Until then, she could only follow the human as he ran full tilt through the forest. Bounding over roots and bushes, bolting past trees and scaring the game away with little regard for them except when he nearly ran them over. Twice did she catch glimpses of deer fleeing the racket he made but not once did he even acknowledge them. It became obvious that a hunt was not on his mind as he ran to where the thunder had clapped.

"Sergeant!" he yelled as he passed by a tree painted with the image of a red claw.

The Neko woman froze as she saw the symbol. What was this human doing?! Did he not know where he was going?!

FOOL! She cursed in her mind, You're entering the territory of the Ra'zorlichs!

Of all the races in her forest and the different tribes and 'nations' that had arisen within and around it, the Ra'zorlichs were among the few who didn't enjoy the company of others. If any of them found this human, they would end him. Not quickly, neither. They were known to be beyond the definitions of the word 'cruel' with any who dared to trespass on their lands. This human would be begging for death by the time they were done, but not if she had something to do about it!

At once the woman began to leap through the trees, bounding from branch to branch with incredible agility. She needed to stop him before his life would be at the mercy of the rogue neko tribe. Using her feline abilities, she was able to easily surpass the human's running along the ground as she went through the trees above him. Despite the increasing racket she made he was still so focused on his path that he didn't see her.

Suddenly the human slowed down, raising that club of his in a peculiar fashion with its wood end braced against his shoulder. Right ahead, something unnatural was caught in the forest canopy. It was one of the wide sheets that the human had used to wrap his dead, only this time it was caught in the highest clutches of a tree with some sort of backpack hanging down from it by several long strands of string.

Below that pack laid the corpse of a Neko. A Ra'zorlich. She could tell by the red claw painted on the shoulder of his black, plate armor. Blood stained his light gray fur, and his sword was still tucked in the sheath attached to his belt. Even from her position in her tree she could see that he was dead.

And there, a few feet from the body, lay yet another human. His clothes were identical to those of the first one as was the strange club lying at his side. The only real difference between the two was that this human didn't wear armor on his head and had a slightly darker skin tone. He was also wounded.

This second human was torn in the thigh with the whole of his right leg bathed in thick crimson. He had a second, longer gouge through his flesh right below where the pant leg had been torn off below the hip. There were a few improvised tourniquets in place to stop the bleeding but if this human did not bandage his wounds properly at once, he would likely die.

The first human broke through the bush with his club initially pointed at the other human. That swiftly changed, however, as the metal end was lowered when he recognized his friend.

"Sergeant! Michael!"

"Private Galen Martin. Son of a bitch... you're late."

"Better late than..." the human froze as he saw his friend's leg, and after a short pause he was dashing to his side. "We need to get ya to a medevac."

"It's just a scratch," Michael shrugged, staying extraordinarily calm at his predicament.

"That's more than a scratch, Michael! We need a medic... I saw a clearing a couple hundred yards away. There's some smoke comin' from there, so it could be a village."

Oh, you poor fool, the neko woman thought.

"And if they have a radio, we could use that to get air support. Get us the Hell out of here."

What is a 'radio'?

Crackling in a bush a few yards off brought the woman's attention away from the humans. Five Ra'zorlich scouts emerged from the brush line a short distance away; but this time they had their blades in hand. And they were ready to slay the beings that killed their pack mate.

.....................................

Galen spun on his heel, bringing his M14 to bear on the five creatures that had just come out of the bush. Their teeth were flashing, light from the setting sun was shining off that heavy armor plating they wore. Like an organized force they spread out and flourished and readied the swords in their clawed hands.

Wait, claws? Fur? Swords? What the Hell?

The private took a double-take on the creatures before him. Never in his life, nor in his job description, did he ever see anything about these... things. Fur covered their bodies from head to toe and distinctly feline ears protruded from the top of their heads. Just the same, long feline tails hung behind their equally cat-like legs. These things were nowhere close to being human; they were more akin to the description of oversized cats walking on two feet.

One thing Galen took notice of right away were the red claws painted on their shoulders, matching the image he had seen on the tree a couple dozen yards up the trail. Dark red loincloths embroidered with that same claw hung off their hips only on the garments it was stitched in black.

"A human!" one growled.

"We told you parasites that none shall pass our territory, human. And now you will pay with your life!"

Galen took a step back as he turned the fire-selector switch of his rifle to the auto setting.

"I am Private Galen Martin, 502^nd parachute infantry regiment of the 101st Airborne Division of the United states Army. I don' know who you are, but if you attack me, I ain't gonna hesitate to kill you."

The pack of beasts laughed aloud, "Ahahahaha, a human? Alone? With wounded? AHAHAHAHA HAAAHAAhhhh!!! Human, I will make your death swift for granting me such a hearty laugh."

His gut steeling itself at the sound of their chortling, Galen firmed up his grip on his weapon and breathed steadily to prepare for what came next. "We'll see how that works out for you, kitty cat. I'm not warnin' ya again, back off or I'm gonna kill you!"

Sergeant Michael clutched onto the gash in his leg and chuckled, "Aim for the head. Their dead friend here didn't think I was serious, either, so I think we should teach these pussycats a lesson."

The leader of the cat beings crossed his arms and motioned his troops forward, "Bring me the wounded one's head. I desire his tongue for my son's chew toy."

In a dash of fur and fury, four of the beasts leaped forward toward Galen with swords high in one hand and claws readied in the other. Gritting his teeth, Galen braced his rifle against his hip and pointed his weapon in the direction of the flying fur balls. Starting from the left he swept the muzzle sideways to the right and squeezed the trigger. A burst of 7.62 mm rounds spat from his rifle to punch clean through those breast plates of the cat creatures and drop clean them from the air.